


Mirage of Summer

by Pittbirdy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pittbirdy/pseuds/Pittbirdy
Summary: Westeros has been at peace for seventeen years under king Bran's rule. Spring has come and times are changing. There's a sense of disquiet among some, and with mysterious strangers bringing a supernatural threat from the west, it's only a matter of time before the Starks, Lannisters and Targaryens are drawn into conflict once more.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

_This story starts seventeen years after the ending of game of thrones. Nothing in the timeline was changed, but I did make some assumptions where they weren’t clearly stated. The first chapter starts with some new characters, but in chapter 2 the familiar characters return again ;). Comments are appreciated. Enjoy!_

* * *

  
_Disclaimer: Apart from my OCs, Characters and world belong to George R. R. Martin. I do not claim any ownership over the characters or the world of Game of Thrones. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line._

* * *

  
  
**PROLOGUE**  
  
  
“Naya! Not so fast!”  
  
“Come on, Baliq! You’re going to lose if you don’t keep up”, Nayeli called back.  
  
Laughing, she ran through the bushes. Arya wouldn’t be mad if she realized they were gone. The council was just so boring, and Nayeli wanted to stand on top of the mountain one last time. They’d forbidden the Westerosi to leave, but Arya and Gerion said they were going to try anyway. She had heard them talking about it when they thought she was asleep.  
  
Their secret would be safe with her, Naya decided. She wouldn’t tell anyone, not even Baliq, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut anyways.  
  
She dove beneath the branches of the bumpy tree. One, two, three, four large steps, then she sharply turned left. She zigzagged across the narrow path along the river and turned right at the crossroads, running to the stream. She carefully climbed onto the large tree that had fallen across, stretching her arms to keep balance. Sliding from the tree onto the rocks sticking from the water, Naya hopped from stone to stone, and then she was across.  
  
_Quiet and graceful. Just like a Vayakh_ , she thought, smiling.  
  
Baliq would never be a Vayakh. Her little brother crawled along the tree with the speed of a sloth, clamping his legs around and grunting with effort. He nearly lost his balance on the stones, and when he’d finally made it across, he was sweating, his little chest rapidly going up and down as he heaved deep breaths.   
  
“Did I lose?”, he asked in a small voice, pouting.  
  
“We’re not there yet, silly”, Nayeli said, ruffling his black hair. It was too long, always hanging in his face.  
  
Uncle Daiza had promised he’d cut it, but every time they asked, he suddenly had more urgent things to do.  
  
“Naya!”  
  
Giggling, Baliq swatted her hand away.  
  
“Come on, then. Last one to reach the top has to help making dinner!”  
  
Naya ran up the steep hill. She went slower this time, so that Baliq could keep up. Maybe she’d let him win today. He was three years younger than her, so it was only fair. Besides, she didn’t mind helping with dinner. Skinning the fish didn’t bother her as much as it did Baliq, although it was a messy job to do.  
  
When they were nearly there, Baliq raced past her, skidding to a halt at the top.   
  
“You won, baby brother”, Naya said when she’d reached the top. She meant to ruffle his hair again, expecting him to say he was not a baby, as usual, but his silence made her halt.  
  
His eyes were wide as saucers, and he seemed rooted to the ground.   
  
Naya followed his gaze. They could see the whole valley from up here, the river running below, the tall Qoj mountains and the Stychis waterfall in the west, the Endless Sea in the east.  
  
Westeros was somewhere on the other side of that sea. Gerion Lannister had told her a lot of stories about his and Arya’s homeland. When they got there, Nayeli had promised herself, she would stand on top of that giant wall of ice and walk through the ruins of Harrenhal. She’d see Arya’s brother, the all-seeing king, and she’d touch a dragon skull. But first, she would sail across the black sea with Baliq and uncle Daiza, something no one had ever done before.  
  
There was a llama farm not a hundred feet away from them, the people living there fast asleep. Zjaqi was lying in the grass, and old Pajam sat lazily against the wall, hat covering his face.  
  
It was the farm Baliq was staring at.  
  
“What’s wrong, Baliq? They’re just sleeping”, Nayeli said.  
  
“No”, Baliq whispered. “Not sleeping.”  
  
Naya looked closer. The llamas were all laying on their sides, she saw. That was strange. Llamas didn’t lie down to sleep.  
  
She put a step closer, but Baliq grabbed her wrist.  
  
“Naya, don’t.”  
  
She pulled her arm loose.  
  
“Calm down, Baliq. I just want to take a look. Besides, Pajam and Zjaqi are always nice to us.”  
  
Baliq shook his head, his eyes wide.   
  
“Something is wrong. We should go, Naya. I’m scared.”  
  
Nayeli rolled her eyes. Baliq was scared of everything. He was scared of the Vayakh, of the stories about the mist, of Arya Stark and sometimes even of uncle Daiza.  
  
“Go back then, if you want to. I’m going to take a look.”  
  
She walked to the farm. Baliq didn’t follow.  
  
“Naya, please come back. What about the mist?”, he said.   
  
The mist was just a story the grownups made up to scare the children. When their mother had died, everyone said she had been killed by the mist. They were lying. Mist was air, it couldn’t kill anyone.  
  
Ignoring her brother, Naya reached the farm.  
  
It was very quiet here. She couldn’t hear the crickets or the birds anymore. A strange smell was coming from the farm.  
  
Zjaqi, Pajam’s wife, was lying in the grass. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the sky.  
  
“Zjaqi?”, she asked in a small voice.   
  
Silence.  
  
When Naya touched her cheek, the skin was cold to the touch.   
  
Naya jerked her hand away. All the llamas were dead too, she realized, and Pajam’s thick belly didn’t move up and down like it usually did when he was taking a nap. 

She stumbled backwards, her breath hitching, heart hammering in her chest. 

Dead. They were all dead.   
  
“Naya!”, Baliq called.  
  
He pointed to something behind her.  
  
_Mist_ , he mouthed.  
  
A chill ran down her spine.   
  
_The mist is just a story, it’s not real._  
  
“How can you always be so brave? Aren’t you ever afraid?”, she’d asked Arya Stark once. Arya never seemed afraid.  
  
“We’re all afraid sometimes”, Arya told her, playing with that wicked dagger she called Fang. Her eyes were dark and sad, her voice low.   
“What matters is how we face our fears.”  
  
“How do you face yours?”, Naya asked.  
  
Arya had smiled a bit at that.   
“You only tell them one thing, Nayeli. Not today.”  
  
_Not today_ , Naya thought as she slowly turned around. _Quiet and strong like the Vayakh. Not today._  
  
The house was hidden behind a thick cloud of silver smoke. It was swirling very slowly, all kinds of colours flashing through the thin tendrils.  
  
Right in the middle of the mist stood a beautiful woman. Her black hair whirled softly in the wind, and she was smiling.   
Her mother stretched out her hand.  
  
“Naya, no!”, Baliq shouted.  
  
Nayeli ignored him. Mother was here, couldn’t he see? It wasn’t so dangerous, the stories about the mist were wrong, they were all lies, mother would never hurt her or her brother.  
  
“I tried to be brave and strong and kind for you, mama”, Nayeli said, tears stinging in her eyes.  
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Vayakh didn’t cry.  
  
Her mother was all grey and smoky like the fog. She’s only a ghost, Naya realized. But she was here, wasn’t she?  
  
Naya stepped closer, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She had to be brave, even if it was difficult.  
  
“I miss you”, she told her mother.  
  
She reached for her mother’s hand. She just had to touch her, only once, and then maybe she would come back. Maybe Naya could save her.  
  
“Naya!”, Baliq shouted again.  
  
When Naya tried to touch her mother’s fingers, she only grasped air. The mist began to curl around her, wild like a storm, and all the light disappeared. Naya felt cold all over. Cold sweat ran down her spine, her heart beating in her throat. She tried to pull her hand away, but mother’s ghostly fingers held her wrist tight.  
  
A thousand lights appeared from the darkness. They were eyes, belonging to all the people loved and lost, but their faces were blurry. Bony hands stretched out, tugging at her, trying to pull her closer. Two of the faces belonged to Pajam and Zjaqi.  
  
Naya tried to tug her arm loose, to run, or scream for help, but she was frozen in place.  
  
“It’s alright, my love”, her mother said.  
  
Naya shook her head, tears streaming down her face.  
  
“No, mama, no, please, let me go. Let me go, let me go...”  
  
A monster stepped from the mist, tall and gold, his face clouded in shadows, heaving a silver sword high above his head.  
  
Naya closed her eyes.  
  
_Not today._  
  
The sword whistled as it came down.


	2. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Davos reminisce, and we meet two new players in the game...

**TYRION**

Shades of pink and orange in the air cast the stones of the Red Keep in a reddish light, the city illuminated with a hue of gold so bright as could only be caused by the setting sun. The training yard down below was nearly empty, save an ambitious squire making a final attempt at improving his clumsy swordplay. Singing birds announced the break of spring, some small heaps of watery snow all that was left of winter.

Tyrion was glad spring had begun. High up in the Tower of the Hand, he reclined in his chair, feet up on a stool, and watched the sun go down. The cold had not done him much good, and although the snow and the stillness it caused were a beauty to behold, after so many years the never changing sight had grown bleak in his opinion. Not to speak of all the nightmares that came with winter.

No, Tyrion Lannister was done with the cold. He longed for longer days, for the blooming plants and the fresh and warm summer air, for the laughter of children playing in the streets.

Sighing, Tyrion emptied his glass. He reached for the wine bottle and peaked inside, just to make sure it was really empty. It was.

At the other side of the desk, lord Davos chuckled dryly.

"It's a fine vintage, Lannister, I'll give you that. But maybe it's better it's all used up, or I'm afraid I'll never get out of this chair. My wife would kill me if I missed dinner."

"Then we'd better hurry", Tyrion said.

He got out of his chair and walked to the cupboard. Inside was another bottle, unopened, labelled _Imp's Delight_ in flourishing golden letters.

"There's another one", he announced, cradling the wine like a newborn babe as he carried it back.

Laughing, Davos shook his head. "Alright then", he said in his Flea Bottom accent. His eyes twinkled in delight. "Just one more."

Tyrion admired him. Davos Seaworth had been born a humble peasant, decent and honourable, but had lost his fingers for his smuggling, a son, and a girl he regarded as a daughter. He had lived through two wars and survived the most gruesome of battles- at which even some of the greatest warriors had perished- and now, though old and grey, he was Master of Ships and lord of Dragonstone, and he lived happily with his wife in the Red Keep. And most importantly, he hadn't done any heinous things to achieve this. No, Tyrion thought with a wry smile, Davos slept well at night.

When the glasses were filled to the brim and they had toasted to the health of the king and every other soul in Westeros, Davos stretched his legs and lay back in his chair.

"Oh, to be young again", he said, eyes shining. "Sometimes I worry all these politics make me age twice as fast, but then I think it's also kept my mind on edge. I long for a day with nothing to break my head over, but I would probably be bored to death if such a day ever came about.

"It almost makes me miss Winterfell. The endless snow, the dragon queen and her dragons, soldiers sharpening their weapons in the dead of night, the fear of not seeing the daylight again, huddling around the fire inside the castle walls..."

The memory brought a smile to Tyrion's face. He did miss Winterfell. It was the only place, perhaps even the only night, he had not been a Lannister, a dwarf, or a monarch's Hand. That night, he had just been Tyrion, and he'd been among friends.

"I remember that night", he said, taking a sip of his wine. "Not much of it, because I was very drunk. There was that wildling, Tormund Giant something, trying to seduce the Lady Commander with some barbaric story. And Podrick sang."

He frowned.

"Now that I think of it, I don't think I've heard him sing any other time. He must've been very drunk, if he forgot his shyness."

"Pity", Davos said. "The lad does have a lovely voice. And don't forget", he added, already filling his second glass, "That was also the night your brother knighted ser Brienne."

_And one of the only times I saw him truly happy_ , Tyrion thought.

The death of his siblings had been hard for him, in the beginning. He missed them dearly, both of them, even Cersei, strange as it may be, and though the raw edges had faded with the years, not a day went by without Tyrion thinking about them. And it was Jaime's smile, that carefree and happy one he'd only worn at Winterfell, that Tyrion missed more than anything.

"He had been making heart eyes at her all night long", Tyrion remembered. "And when I misspoke, and called her ser... His face lit up, and I knew what he was thinking. Fuck the rules. If you ever tried to tell my siblings something wasn't possible, they would laugh you in the face while proving you wrong. Say what you will about them, but that was one of their redeeming qualities."

He paused.

"There was a special bond between my brother and ser Brienne, wasn't there? To be honest, I never understood how or why that came to be, but if there has ever been anyone worthy of knighting, it must be her."

Davos grinned.

"Right you are. She's a fine knight, and a good commander… Speaking of the North, have you heard anything from Sansa?"

"I did receive a letter, now that you mention it. I haven't had the time to read it yet. Gods, these rebelling peasants are giving me sleepless nights. Why now, I wonder? Why not before?"

Tyrion shook his head to waken his wine-muddled senses and searched in his pile of letters.

"No man is stupid enough to rebel in the middle of winter", Davos said, shrugging.

Tyrion shook his head.

"A cold skin and an empty belly more than anything are the sparks to an uprising. Besides, there was a very long summer before this winter. Why not then? Where is that bloody letter, it should be right here..."

_Strange_ , he thought when he couldn't find it. _I'm sure I saw it this morning._

Sam Tarly had delivered it himself, he remembered. The man had nearly fallen down the stairs of shock when Jair had jumped up behind him...

Just then, ser Podrick Payne burst through the door, red-faced and panting.

"Ah, Pod! Come in, have some wine", Tyrion said, as lord Davos already moved his chair aside to make space.

Podrick looked around the room, face falling.

"No, thanks, lord Tyrion. I just came to ask... Jair's not here, is he?"

"No", Tyrion said slowly.

He might have an idea where his letter was.

"He's not with you?"

Pod shook his head, scratching his beard.

"I wouldn't be here if he was, m'lord."

"Did you check his room?"

"He's not there either."

"Ned's?"

"No, m'lord."

"The armoury, then? Or the training yard?"

Podrick shook his head. "Nor in the kitchens, the library or the wall by the beach. I looked everywhere, but I can't find them. Ned's gone as well."

Groaning, Tyrion rubbed his face.

Since Jair was the eldest of the twins, he'd assisted Tyrion with the letters that afternoon, to his great reluctance. Davos' visit had been a blessing for Jair, and he'd run as soon as he got the chance. Tyrion had thought the extra amount of free time might sway his son to show up for his squiring duties on time, but alas, Pod's arrival shattered the illusion. And worse, Jair had dragged his brother with him.

"Well", Davos said, bones creaking more than his chair when he got to his feet, "no one ever said children were easy. Nor are wives, for that matter. I'd better be going, I think. Good luck with your son catching, lord Tyrion."

Son catching indeed.

He hoped Jair wouldn't run away once they'd found him. Surely the boy had grown out of such things, hadn't he? Podrick was fast, but even he couldn't keep up with such a slender youth.

Looking at Podrick now, and the exhaustion written all over his face, Tyrion wondered if he should've let Ned squire for Podrick and Jair for ser Brienne instead, who wouldn't be swayed so easily by his antrics.

Tyrion downed his wine and groaned miserably.

"I should have never had children. It was a stupid idea."

Davos laughed, and Podrick found half a smile, just a tentative curve of his lips.

"They can't be that bad, can they?", he asked, his tone more hope than truth.

_My dear Pod_ , Tyrion thought as he dragged himself from his chair.

_You have no idea._

* * *

He found his sons in the bowels of the Red Keep, in the old dungeons, where the skulls of legendary dragons had once kept vigil in the dark. Time seemed to stand still here, and the air was thick with the remnants of Daenerys' destruction nearly two decades past. A few pillars and arches held up what remained of the roof, and someone had cleared the back wall of most of the bricks, so that a few sun beams reached into the cave. The floor crossed into sand, and between the high cliffs, he could see the blue sea lapping at a small beach.

_How can a place so wretched look so peaceful?_

He wondered what it was that drew his sons to this place, but then, Ned had always felt some affinity with dark and strange things, ever since that night they'd found him sitting bloody and dazed under the weirwood tree in Winterfell. Tyrion had never been so afraid for his son, and neither had Sansa, and the next day they had decided that Tyrion would bring the boys with him to King's Landing, so that Bran may find out what had happened to Ned, and keep an eye on him if need be.

Or maybe this had nothing to do with Ned's abilities, and it was just Tyrion seeing things that weren't there.

The Red Keep was full of dark places, but most memories had faded away with time. The same wasn't the case for these cellars, where he had only set foot a few times since the war. The spot where he'd found his dead siblings tried to draw his gaze, like a flame a moth, but Tyrion forced himself to walk past it.

"Knight takes rabble, Jair. You shouldn't cheat."

"I'm not cheating. You can't take my rabble. See, there's a dragon right there. It'll crisp your knight right to the bone. You would've seen that if you'd paid attention."

The sound was coming from Balerion, the largest of the dragon skulls, and the only one still in one piece. The eyes of the beast were flickering in an eerie yellow.

Tyrion walked around the skull to the hollow back, and was met with the sight of his two sons cropped up in the narrow space. They had laid furs on the floor, and placed candles in the sockets of the skull. The small room was scattered with dusty tomes and wooden toys, and right between them, Ned was sitting crosslegged, his nose nearly touching the cyvasse board in front of him. Jair was laying on his side, spread out like a cat.

So caught up in their game they were, that they didn't notice him.

Despite himself, Tyrion couldn't help but study the cyvasse board. There were only a few white knights left, along with the king and a castle, but they were all surrounded by black mountains, a lot of rabble and a dragon. Judging by the faces, Tyrion could guess which colour belonged to whom.

Ned put one of his knights forward in an awkward indecisive move. He didn't realize his mistake until it was too late.

"Hah!", Jair said.

By moving the knight, Ned's white king had become vulnerable.

Jair moved his rabble forward. With a triumphant face, he tipped the white king over with his finger.

Ned groaned. He dragged his arms across his face and sagged back.

"You shouldn't hesitate all the time", Jair told his brother.

"I wasn't hesitating."

"Yes, you were."

Tyrion cleared his throat.

Two pairs of eyes peered up in unison, one blue, one grey, and as always, Jair was the first to speak.

"Father!", he said, ignoring Tyrion's heated glare.

He grinned, white teeth flashing in a face streaked with dirt, and Tyrion almost forgot his anger.

Jair had dark brown hair and the grey eyes of the Starks, but he had Jaime's face, built, and skill with a blade. When he smiled, Tyrion saw his brother's smile, and the mischief he saw in those grey eyes was the same as he remembered in green eyes long ago.

It had been many years, but every time he looked at Jair, he felt a pang of grief and was forced to remind himself that it was his son before him, not his brother, who was nothing more than a ghost these days, a fleeting memory in the wind.

He shook the thought away, and gathered the sternest voice he could manage.

"Where have you been? You made Podrick search all the castle for you, as if he were your squire instead of the other way around, and now I find you here, of all places, even though I explicitly forbade you to come down here. Both of you", he added.

Ned's face turned as red as his hair. Where Jair's eyes were steel grey, his brother had the eyes of their mother, bright and blue like the sky. His long hair touched his neck and was as red as dancing flames. He cast his eyes down.

Jair, unlike his brother, didn't have the decency to look ashamed.

"Why?", he asked, sitting upright.

"There's nothing here".

"Because it's too dangerous. The ceiling might collapse, or the walls, and you might get stuck or get hurt."

"Like our aunt and uncle?", Ned asked in a tiny voice.

Tyrion stared at him.

"Who told you about that?"

Ned mumbled something, blushing.

"Oh", Jair said, oblivious.

He was squinting at the ceiling, as if it would come apart under his very gaze.

"It looks very solid", he said, which it was, as the Red Keep would never have fallen if not for Drogon, who was somewhere very far away. Though, of course, Tyrion wasn't going to tell his sons so.

"But Father", Jair added, to Tyrion's dismay, with the kind of blunt innocence only children possessed, "Why does it bother you so much? They're not here anymore. Although", he said, frowning,"Lyanna says that ghosts sometimes haunt the places where they die."

He turned to Ned, grey eyes wide in excitement.

"Do you think it's true?"

Ned shrugged, wise for his twelve years.

"Lyanna Tarly says a lot of things. But if there were ghosts here, we'd feel it."

Jair nodded, as if it were a completely valid point, then casually said,

"Oh, I nearly forgot. I was helping you with the letters this morning, remember? The lord's business. But lord Davos came, and you wanted to talk to him, and then I saw this letter from mother. You were busy, and there was no one to spar with me and I could already do all the sword moves, so I was bored. I thought, if you could read it, then Ned and I could read it also, so I ah... stole it. Please don't be mad."

Tyrion softened his voice.

"I'm not mad. Of course you would want to read your mother's letter, as you have every right to. Only next time, ask me first."

Hesitantly, he added, "You still have it, don't you?"

When Ned procured the crumpled letter from his pocket, Tyrion couldn't help but exhale in relief.

The candles were nearly burnt out. It was too dark to read the words, so Tyrion made his way to the beach. Ned and Jair followed. They clambered across the rocks and the rubble, teasing and laughing. They left their boots on the beach and stormed into the water to play fight each other amidst the waves.

Tyrion sat down on a rock, the water lapping at his bare feet, and unrolled the scroll.

_Tyrion,_

_a raven came from the Wall. Winter is at its end. Jon says the snows are melting, and the grass sticks out from beneath._

_Here in Winterfell spring has already come, yet I still find it strange to think summer might even reach the Wall, now that the Others are gone. Jon can certainly use the sunlight, sparse as it is up there._

_In your letter you said the smallfolk have grown restless. I've heard similar news in the North, though it is not as bad here as you say it is with you, but then, the smallfolk of King's Landing have always been more prepared to revolt, as you may well know._

_Ruta misses Ned and Jair -not that she'll ever admit it- and so do I. It's been nearly four years since you last visited._

_With winter at its end, it will be easier to travel. I know you are very busy, but you can kindly tell my brother he must do without you for some time. And if he can't, Bran will always be welcome in Winterfell, as are Podrick, ser Davos and Brienne, and Sam and Gilly and all the children of course, although I kindly ask you to leave Bronn in the south._

_I hope I may see you soon._

_Yours, Sansa._

Four years.

Had it been that long? He looked at the twins playing in the water, and suddenly he felt old. How long had he been Bran's Hand? Sixteen years? Seventeen? He'd been Hand for a few months when his niece was born, so it had to be seventeen years.

He had married Sansa because she needed heirs, and their bond was a strong tie between the kingdoms, stronger than that of a sister and a brother who wasn't quite her brother anymore. There had been mutual respect between them, in the beginning, and maybe some sort of friendship, but never love. Now, though, Tyrion could with certainty say that he loved Sansa, and his daughter and his sons, and gods forgive him, Winterfell was no bad place to grow old.

He looked behind him, into the dark caves, where the memories of an old life lingered, and in front of him, where two young lives were laughing in the sun. It felt stupid now, to blame the boys for wishing a secret place of their own, full of risk and adventure, and where no one would disturb them.

"Father?"

Ned Stark wiped his red hair from his face, dripping with water from head to toe. His blue eyes, bright as frost, seemed to pierce straight through Tyrion.

"Will we go home?"

Tyrion was silent for a long time.

Home.

What was home? King's Landing, with its dark past, where he'd lived for the most part of his life? Casterly Rock, his birthplace, where he hadn't set foot in in years? Or Winterfell, where he was labelled a stranger and a foreigner, that castle that held both some of his dearest and darkest memories?

To the twins, that castle in the cold north, where their mother and sister resided, was their home, and so it must be his.

"I must talk to the king about it", he finally said. "But yes, Ned. We will go home."

Ned's face split into a rare grin.

"Oh, and Father?"

"Yes?"

Ned leaned close to whisper into his ear.

"Can you help me play cyvasse?"

"No", Tyrion said, smiling, "But I can help you win it."

Tyrion left the twins with Podrick to see to their chores, and that night, after dinner, the three of them sat down and played cyvasse, long into the night.


End file.
